Devotion to Brutality
by Sonya Omun
Summary: As Dethklok's manager, it is Charles Ofdensen's duty to see to the needs of the band. Including the unspoken ones. Rated M. One-shot.


Warning: This story is rated mature for hardcore BDSM.

**DEVOTION TO BRUTALITY**

In their own way, each member of Dethklok had family issues.

Recently witnessing the gruesome death of his father had caused a resurgence of pubescent behaviour in the already young-minded Toki. Merely mentioning the word "father" made Skwisgaar's eyes lose focus, fingers strumming ever faster on his symbiotic instrument. Once, while Pickles was busy vandalizing Charles' office, the manager was certain he heard the word "dad" muttered more than once in the drummer's stream of invectives. And Murderface... Well, two minutes in the man's presence made it quite clear that he had not emerged as unscathed from the murder-suicide that claimed his parents as he wanted the world to believe.

Nathan was different from the rest of the band in one aspect: he loved his father. His mother, however, he feared. Despite her appearance of a prim and proper housewife married to a former army officer, Rose was clearly the one in charge of the Explosion family.

Charles had not met Rose often, and only briefly, all too willing on those occasions to oblige her request for private time with her only son. From what Charles had seen of the family interacting, Rose simply drowned the two Explosion men in a ceaseless stream of words.

The ones that bothered to listen would find many criticisms towards her son subtly lacing the inane anecdotes Rose heaped on Nathan. It was obvious that the slow-speaking Nathan lacked the quick wit to respond to the jibes that came and went, or to criticise the over-explanatory asides that made it sound as though Rose was addressing a small child.

This tyrannical female presence in Nathan's life had left a distinct mark on the way the front man dealt with women. With all the promiscuity in and surrounding the band, Nathan was the only one consistently monogamous on those times he engaged in a relationship – even when he visibly lamented having to turn down willing fan girls.

With every aspect of his life being scrutinized by the media, it was no surprise when fame-hungry exes began expounding on Nathan's sexual habits, and the tabloids were set abuzz by the news that the world's most metal man was a surprisingly gentle lover.

'He's _Nathan Explosion_-!' The brunette on the television explained with a shrug, 'I thought it would be, like, you know, whips and chains, and, you know – brutal! Turns out the guy is just one big teddy bear.'

The wave of laughter from the talk show audience was cut short by Nathan cracking the huge television screen. With a mighty kick, the image of Nathan's ex-girlfriend fragmented, shattered face smiling into the room a moment longer before the picture died. Rumbling something too low for the manager to hear, Nathan stalked off. It had gotten Charles thinking, staring impassively at the remains of the ludicrously expensive screen. Nathan was a lover of all things brutal, yet seemed to lack an outlet for such feelings in a... boudoir scenario.

That wouldn't do. Pent-up frustrations would hamper Nathan's productivity – such as it was. With the due date for the band's next album rapidly approaching, Charles decided he would have to take action.

Rapping his knuckles sharply on Nathan's room door, Charles pushed it open without further preamble. Nearly all the band members wilfully ignored the knock they recognized to be Charles', except for the more meek Toki.

Nathan was seated behind the huge, black desk that stood by the high windows of his bedroom. A large amount of the remaining space was claimed a massive canopy bed. Almost everything in Nathan's room was adorned with skulls, or spikes, the bed's crimson canopy made to look torn and, altogether, "more brutal." Apart from a lamp, the only item on Nathan's desk was a notepad, its top page empty. This was likely due to the fact that Nathan sat with his head tipped back, staring up at the ceiling with dull eyes.

'Do you have a moment?' Charles queried when after several seconds the singer still hadn't acknowledged him. The only response he got was an ambiguous grunt.

'Good,' Charles said, making sure Nathan understood that he intended to stay. Still Nathan didn't bother looking at his manager. No matter. Charles knew something that would get the billionaire's attention soon enough.

Without so much as a shift in facial expression, Charles unbuttoned his suit jacket. From there, he set to removing his tie. He always liked a red tie, but when he had just started representing Dethklok, Nathan had brusquely told him to buy a different one, citing that it "should be more the colour of, you know, blood. And guts. And stuff."

Green eyes finally settled on Charles when he let his scarlet tie pool on top of the ebony surface of Nathan's desk. Charles always wore a tie. Always.

A frown slowly deepened on Nathan's forehead as Charles efficiently began divesting himself of clothes. Only when Charles hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs did the singer seem to truly grasp what the other intended. Nathan's gaze snapped up to Charles' face, clearly wanting to keep his eyes from wandering to where Charles' hands pushed down the last vestiges of decency.

Charles stood in front of the desk, confident even when fully bared. His posture was no less proud and upright, as comfortable wearing just his skin as when donning his usual suit.

All Nathan blurted out after a few seconds was: 'Erm... I'm-eeeeeeerrr,' his growling voice elongated the vowel for several seconds before he bluntly finished: 'not gay.'

Charles took in this statement with a business-like nod. He withdrew something from the pocket of his jacket, draping it neatly over the edge of the desk. 'This is not about whether or not you're a homosexual, Nathan.'

'It's not?' Nathan piped up in clear confusion, ''Cause-er... That's definitely your dick. Right there. Yep...' He raised his hand in mid-air, keeping it extended before him, twisted just so as to obscure the sight of Charles' exposed genitals.

Looking wholly unperturbed, Charles uncoiled the two strips of leather he had taken from his suit pocket. A leash and collar. As casually as though he was replacing his neck tie, Charles began fastening the collar around his own throat. 'This doesn't have to be sexual. Not if you don't want it to be.'

Charles gave Nathan time to ponder his retort, attaching the leash to the metal ring set in the black leather of the collar. The leather was thick, its stiff newness already threatening to chafe Charles' throat. It didn't matter. That would be the least of his discomforts soon enough. Bare feet padded against the stone floor, Charles rounding the large desk.

'"This"? And-er... what is this...? Exactly...?' Nathan rumbled, releasing the lip he'd been vaguely chewing on.

'I'd say this is what it looks like. Exactly.' Nathan could be as thick as a stack of particularly uneducated planks, but Charles had seen glimpses of Nathan's laptop screen when happening upon the singer unawares. A brief sight of chains and leather before Nathan quickly snapped his computer shut, asking Charles what the manager wanted with a lot more use of the word "fuck" than normal.

Still seeing no sign of piqued interest, Charles lowered himself to one knee in front of Nathan's chair with a small sigh. It seemed he had to spell it out.

'Look,' reaching out, Charles tucked the loop at the end of the leash into Nathan's loosely curled fist, 'I know there are... certain things that you want. And I-ah... I don't think you're getting those needs met.'

Nathan's brow furrowed some more. It wasn't metal to talk about "needs."

'You can do what you want with me,' Charles said bluntly. He could handle it. After one has died, many other things lose impact. Especially to one already as hardened as Charles.

'I don't expect you to be nice. Chain me. Whip me. Break me. Whatever brings you relief.'

While Nathan's eyes widened, his tongue briefly swiping over his lower lip, he still said nothing. However, something changed. The atmosphere between the two men tightened. Never before had Charles been the focus of such an intent peer from Nathan, their emerald colour darkening. Without breaking eye contact, Charles saw from his peripheral vision how Nathan's large fist tightened on the leash. Good.

Even so, Nathan still seemed slow to embrace this new notion, and Charles decided to give a final nudge.

'Well,' he said curtly, 'it would appear I-ah... misjudged. If you're not interested...' Trailing off, Charles' muscular legs unfolded to push him back to a standing position.

The moment Charles attempted to pull away more, the leash gently being tugged in Nathan's grip for release, the front man instead yanked back his arm, maintaining his hold. With a sudden snap of force that would have left him with whiplash had he been unprepared, Charles was pulled back down to both knees.

A typical predatory animal, Charles mused to himself as the muscles in his neck ached. Nathan's killer instinct was only triggered when his prey attempted to get away.

The relentless pull on the leash did not ease when Charles was once again kneeling, Nathan forcing his head further down. A dark shape momentarily blotted out the overhead lights, Nathan's boot coming to rest heavily on Charles' neck and jaw, pressing his cheek into the cold floor.

His spectacles askew, Charles looked up as much as his position allowed, finding Nathan hunched over in his seat to stare unwaveringly at the man beneath his foot.

Nathan's green eyes blazed with a focus Charles had only ever seen in him while making music. Many believed Nathan's sole obsession to be music – an _idiot savant_ of death metal. While they weren't completely mistaken, Charles knew music was simply the tool Nathan wielded best in the pursuit of his highest passion: brutality.

A part of Charles was grateful when Nathan reached down to slip the manager's glasses off with a gentility that belied the pressure with which his boot pinned down Charles' head. Necessary though it was to keep his glasses safe, Charles had rather been enjoying that shimmer of ferocity that turned Nathan's gaze hard a jade, now too blurry to make out properly.

As calmly as Nathan had removed Charles' glasses, the singer's fingers now harshly twisted into the other's hair, Nathan lifting his foot. Unresisting, Charles allowed himself to be dragged up by the leash and his hair.

By the time they reached Nathan's canopy bed, Charles was quite sure Nathan held a fist full of hair when the singer released him, throwing him onto the mattress. Charles didn't move, face down on the bed with his lower legs still awkwardly dangling over the side.

After rummaging through a drawer, Nathan returned with a blindfold that he promptly lowered over Charles' eyes. Large hands clamped down on Charles' forearms, twisting his arms behind his back. Leather manacles were tightened around Charles' wrists, then around his ankles. A vice-like grip guided Charles' limbs until his wrists were secured to his ankles as he lay on his stomach, leaving him helpless. Trapped between his body and the bedding, Charles' cock was beginning to stir from the rubbing of silk against his most sensitive parts as he was jostled to be bound.

Again Nathan moved away, leaving Charles to guess at his intentions. Said intentions became quite clear when something hissed through the air, connecting sharply with the back of Charles' thigh.

It took several strikes for the manager to guess that wicked _whoosh_ before every impact belonged to a cane. Each hit connected with a slap, leaving agonizing lines of heated pain that lingered for several seconds before fanning out to set surrounding nerves ablaze. Charles could feel the welts swelling, a tightness expanding across his skin as Nathan thwacked away at his thighs, ass, and back.

Small grunts of pain escaped Charles on occasion, but what he fought more than the physical discomfort were the trained instincts that his suffering brought along. This was not some assailant for Charles to fight off. Pressing his cheek into the bed, Charles focussed on Nathan's growling hum of approval when the manager's hips gave an involuntary twitch.

When Nathan abruptly changed from a cane to what felt like a bull whip, Charles cried out, caught off guard by the change in sensation. Where the cane had left raised bruises, the whip tore roughly at his skin. Charles' scream only encouraged Nathan more, the whip falling faster, harder.

As the flogging continued, more of Charles' stoicism was flayed away along with increasing amounts of skin. Panting, he squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, resisting the urge to bury his face against the sheets. It clearly excited Nathan to hear his sounds.

Some of the welts left from the bite of leather were beginning to ooze blood, already packed close to the surface after the viscous caning. The tickling of wetness amidst the inferno that was Charles' back felt so out of place, making him weakly squirm for the first time.

The pain ripped through Charles' nervous system like energy, charging his muscles for the fight or flight that the manager refused to heed. Every blow fed that current, causing him to writhe, increasingly vocal, as his body sought an outlet for that pained charge.

Nathan didn't speak. Accompanied by his commanding grip, the monosyllabic growls and grunts he uttered were the only communication needed. However, through his own, ragged breathing, through the screams, Charles could make out a steady stream of muttered words. Whipping his manager, Nathan murmured dark poetry in adoration for the savagery he inflicted.

There was a pattering of leather on stone, the torrent of pain ceasing so abruptly that it left Charles' head spinning, needing to readjust to the sudden lack of sensation bombarding him. He was given little respite, though, Nathan's hand returning to cruelly fist his hair. The mattress by Charles' head dipping sharply gave the man a good indication of what was to happen next, and he blindly opened his mouth just as Nathan's erection bumped against his lips.

Having caught the singer in a state of undress before – for varying reasons – Charles was not surprised he had to strain his jaw open to take Nathan's girth. Tears collecting in his eyes were absorbed by the blindfold, the material swiftly dampening as it also soaked up more sweat while Charles struggled not to gag.

The love Dethklok had for oral sex was no secret, and it showed in the vigour with which Nathan claimed Charles' mouth. Keeping ruthless control of Charles' head via the collar and the man's hair, Nathan growled as the thrust forward to sheathe himself more firmly in his manager's throat.

Charles' focus solely went out to the act of pulling in air through his nose, trying to keep his mouth wet while simultaneously forcing his jaws apart as far as he could. He never expected Nathan would have the fortitude of will to take up a shock stick while indulging in oral pleasure. The strangled noise Charles made at a sudden shock zipping through him was undignified, to say the least.

An angry crackle accompanied each prod with the electrified tip, making Charles' body jerk every time, outside of his control. Still fucking his manager's mouth, Nathan lightly tapped the shock stick closer and closer to the open welts and wounds on Charles' back. Lacking the air to scream properly, Nathan lodged deep in his mouth, Charles' eyes rolled back behind his blindfold, his howl muffled, gargling, as he was bloodrocuted.

Nathan's climax followed abruptly. Pushing in one final time, Charles could feel Nathan's arousal twitching against his tongue, coating it with the singer's release. Amidst his gasping coughs, Charles laboriously attempted to swallow.

He expected a reprieve, however brief, while Nathan regained his faculties post orgasm. No such thing was granted him, and Charles found himself flipped over nearly instantly. As soft as the silk sheets were, they elicited a sharp gasp from Charles as his abused back was pressed into the mattress. Fingernails bit into his inner thighs, and he knew Nathan left crescent indents when he forced the manager's legs apart.

Having barely had time to recover from his last climax, Nathan's erection was nevertheless rock hard as he pressed the tip against Charles' entrance. Feeling the demanding pressure, Charles pushed his legs apart as far as he could, hoping to spare himself as much discomfort as possible when Nathan began to push forward.

Powerful hands kept a crushing grip on his hips, making it impossible for Charles to squirm away as Nathan pushed in with that heated hardness, slow but merciless. Through gritted teeth, Charles let out a half-moan, half-groan that was as drawn out as Nathan's entry into his body.

With all the growling and huffing of a rutting animal, Nathan pulled his hips back, beginning to thrust. The discomfort of Charles' rear blended in with the pain of his back, body rocking from the building force of Nathan's movements. Hips snapped against Charles' whipped ass, and he pushed his head back into the bed with the smallest of whimpers.

His weak sounds only intensified when Nathan leaned in over Charles' body. A fist grabbed the leash close to where it was hooked up to the collar, Nathan using it as leverage to push himself in deep – deeper – _deepest._ Every thrust now made the singer slam into that place deep inside Charles, causing coloured sparks to erupt through the darkness of his blindfold. Each burst of pleasure carried barbs of pain, the juxtaposition setting Charles' mind and body alight with white lightning of pure sensation.

Nathan's pace grew frantic, Charles emitting a steady stream of sounds that he was barely aware of as he was driven to that apex of pained pleasure without pity. Charles' orgasm was vicious, unexpectedly crashing through him, and making his whole body shudder uncontrollably in paroxysms of horrible ecstasy. He could feel something warm splatter from his untouched cock, soiling his own abdomen.

The manager's cries of helpless pleasure-pain were enough to make Nathan come undone, following Charles into his second release. Nathan froze mid-thrust, suddenly changing direction from pulling out to bucking back in, hips twitching. Below the singer, Charles could feel Nathan's guttural grunt of pleasure reverberate through his own body.

For the longest time, the only sound was the two voices panting in unison. As his heart rate settled, more and more aches and pains were making themselves known to Charles, and he shivered beneath Nathan's boneless form. He could feel Nathan shaking as well as the front man pushed himself up. The hands that undid the bindings of Charles' wrists and ankles were tremulous.

Charles very slowly moved his cramping limbs, shoulders and knees objecting as much to movement now as they had done at being restrained. He allowed himself to slump on the bed, not bothering to remove the blindfold.

'Are you-er... okay?' Nathan's voice was even more rumbling than usual, more throaty.

'Mmhm, I'm fine,' Charles replied without moving. Though his tone was the same as always, he spoke more slowly.

In the long pause that followed, Charles tried not to give in to his body's desire to slip into a deep sleep. Nathan's growling voice recalled his floating mind back to his abused form.

'Good.' The single word was spoken gruffly. Several moments later, Charles heard Nathan's heavy bedroom door open and slam back shut. Bringing up a languid hand, Charles pushed the blindfold away from his eyes to find only an empty room.

Charles heaved a deep, deep sigh. None of the boys ever expressed clear appreciation for anything he did, and he shouldn't start expecting that now. That wasn't metal.

Pushing up his sore body, Charles collected his clothes and got redressed. More than anything, the manager wanted to take the rest of the day off to tend to his battered form, but there was no time for such things. There was an album to make. First smoothing out the dips and creases his weight had left on Nathan's sheets, Charles walked out on stiff legs, resuming his duties as though nothing had ever transpired.

Several months later, Charles was listening to the first cut of the new Dethklok record when something caught his attention. Pausing the album's title track, he rewinded several seconds, listening to some of the lyrics more closely.

Charles smiled to himself, a thin, restrained smile, as he listened to Nathan's snarling voice amidst shredding guitars and thunderous drums.

_'Don't expect me to be nice. Chain you. Whip you. Break you. My one, brutal relief.'_

**FIN**

Author's Note: Thank you so very much for taking the time to read! Comments are always very much appreciated.


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